


The Darkened Hallway

by Mikalah



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Canon: Resident Evil 2 Remake (Video Game 2019)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-17 18:05:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18103673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikalah/pseuds/Mikalah
Summary: Leon was already having a shitty night, and it got significantly worse when in a darkened hallway, he ran into a terrifying humanoid bio-weapon that defied belief.





	The Darkened Hallway

**Author's Note:**

> This was just a little writing exercise that was a special request from my husband. I'm fucking obsessed with this game, and the huge nostalgia trip it's taken me on, having been dominated by the series during the glory days of the original trilogy. Resident Evil 1-3, especially 3, defined my junior high/high school years, and it's been such a thrill to be able to experience Leon and Claire's story again. They better remake 3 now, because the Nemesis is an absolute legend...

The weapons locker buzzer emitted a loud, piercing bleat that rattled around the S.T.A.R.S. office, signaling that the magnetic lock had been released on the cage door. The sudden burst of sound in the otherwise deathly silent room made the lone occupant freeze, a shock of fear rippling through the uniformed body as the empty office fell under a blanket of quiet once more. It was anticlimactic, the pattering of rain on the Raccoon Police Department a constant white noise from the hallway outside, creating an almost relaxing ambience to what was otherwise a hellish nightmare.

The immediate, peaceful silence was not what made Leon freeze in the aftermath, but the likelihood of what could possibly come after. Nothing had been simple on what was meant to be his first day on the force, so it would not have surprised him if the unexpected shriek of the lock releasing had drawn something _else_ to his location. It was a toss up as to what that would be, but Leon had very quickly learned to stop questioning what was happening around him in favor of focusing on a strategy for survival.

His first day as a police officer in Raccoon City hadn’t exactly started out as expected. Violence, death and decay had been the theme of the night— _literally._ After running into the young woman named Claire Redfield just outside of town, only to get split up again after explosive circumstances, he had thought he was on his own. The rest of the police forces were either corpses in the hallways… or corpses standing up and walking around looking to take a bite out of the next hapless officer—or civilian—who crossed their path.

All the police academy training in the world could have never prepared Leon for the situation in Raccoon City: the dead walking and actual goddamned monsters climbing on the walls. Those had been especially fun to take down, and Leon had just barely managed to get passed one of those _lickers_ alive. He had waltzed through his physical and marksmanship training with flying colors, but the targets hadn’t been inside-out meat sacks with foot-long claws and long, undulating tongues that he had seen skewer through a body.

This was turning out to be one hell of a first day.

After standing still and frozen for what felt like an eternity at the S.T.A.R.S. computer console, Leon finally willed his body to move after nothing burst through the door behind him. He hated the fact that he was afraid, ashamed to admit that his inexperience and current duress were slowly eroding away the finely tuned instincts he had cultivated through practice and academy training. Too many close calls were starting to fray the taught strings of muscle memory, intuition and self-control he had spent so much time threading together, determined to be a leading example of what being a police officer was supposed to represent. The problem was, there wasn’t anyone else left to protect and serve.

Now, Leon was scared out of his mind, trying to hold his wits and the last shreds of his training together to find Claire and get out of this infested police station alive. What came next was still up in the air, but after seeing what had become of Raccoon City, finding out who was responsible and bringing them to justice was high on Leon’s to-do list.

Yanking the USB drive out of the computer console next to him, Leon thumbed the slider that retracted the plug component back into place—what an odd choice for a police badge, having a built-in security key via USB dongle on the badge itself. Though, from what he had heard and a quick survey of the room, rifling through desk drawers for spare ammo and anything that might be useful (it seemed Leon hadn’t been the first person with the idea, as the office was pretty picked clean), the S.T.A.R.S. team didn’t come off as a run-of-the-mill squadron. In fact, the entire police station was… odd to say the least.

The layout, at best, was sprawling and somewhat illogical, seemingly with no organic thought to how the space was used and what section of the department was where. That was partially why Leon was having such a hard time making his way through it, trying to find the keys that would reveal the pathway that led to _something_ below the building. Supposedly, that was where another officer, Elliott—may he rest in peace—had found a safe pathway out. 

So, that was Leon’s objective, but the damn building was impeding his progress at every turn: puzzles, rooms locked behind strange, themed keys, and now flesh eating zombies and creepy wall crawlers. Maybe Leon had dodged a metaphorical bullet, and if he survived this, could find a nice, quiet, backwood station to retire in. 

For now, the detour back to the S.T.A.R.S. office had proven to be a good use of his time, as he’d gotten a nice Lightning Hawk magnum out of it. Whoever had come through the office before hadn’t been able to get to it, which was a blessing in Leon’s favor but sadly not for the poor soul who had missed it. There were a handful of magnum rounds left in a box next to a handwritten letter from— _Chris Redfield_ , Claire’s brother whom she’d come to find. Turns out he was in Europe having a great time according to the note. Might have been nice if he’d told his sister where he was before she’d run off looking for him only to end up in the middle of an apocalypse. It seemed like they needed to work on their communication skills. Regardless, it wasn’t Claire’s fault, so Leon thought to fold the letter up and put it in one of his hip pouches to give to her later… assuming he found her.

Holstering the Lightning Hawk for later use seemed like a sensible option, not wanting to waste the more powerful ammo unless he really needed it. Standing at the door that led back out to the rain-soaked hallway he paused with his hand on the doorknob. Experience had told him that bursting through doors was not smart, even through a room or hallway you’d already been through. The undead moved, shuffling restlessly through the lifeless corridors and offices looking for their next meal so a location was never truly _safe._

Leon cracked the door open, squaring his back to it as he eyed the trashed, darkened hallway beyond. That end of the passageway was empty, the lone, slumped body of an eviscerated officer propped against the far wall. It hadn’t moved, _yet_ , so Leon wasn’t going to take any chances. At least the undead bastards were loud, so it wouldn’t get the jump on him if he went the opposite way. 

Opening the door further to slip through, Leon swung his pistol up into the darkness of the hallway as he stepped outside the office, quietly closing the door behind him. This direction of the corridor broke off into a blind ninety degree angle to the left and visibility was much worse. The light pouring in from the broken windows to his right cast beams of pale blues and oranges from still-burning fires in the city outside. Sheets of rain cascaded into the hallway at an angle, hitting his right side and soaking his uniform while the skin underneath his shirt tingled with gooseflesh from the chill. Muttering, Leon wondered dourly if he would have any sick time to use if he were to catch the flu amidst this entire mess. 

Motes of dust hovered in the shafts of luminescence as Leon cut through them, his steps crunching on soggy wooden splinters and glass shards despite his best efforts to employ stealth. He’d made the mistake once of rushing through this hallway only to nearly run head-first into one of those skinned lickers, so his caution was learned, and very appropriate. Its corpse remained slumped against the far corner where he had miraculously shot it down. Seemed aiming for the massively obvious, incredibly vulnerable brain was the trick. One just had to be able to get a clear enough shot without the thing lunging at you.

A noise that sounded like a door opening around the corner in front of him made him stop, his raised weapon hand steadied on his opposite wrist as he paused. He wasn’t accustomed to the undead actually _opening_ doors; they tended to _burst_ through, shambling and groaning and screeching as they stumbled into the next room. These footsteps: loud, heavy and deliberate sounded less like a flesh-eating monster… and more like a person.

“Hello?!” Leon chanced, calling into the darkness at whoever now occupied the hallway with him. If it was a survivor, then he had to help them. “Claire?!” There was no response, and that seemed… odd. He freezed again, breath stopping in his chest as his pulse skyrocketed once more. It had been doing that a lot on this night, his muscles tensing as he fought to relax the grip on his pistol. “I’m a police officer. Identify yourself!”

The steps began again, _heavy_ , like they were carrying the weight of something incredibly large, picking up the pace as if the sound of his voice had spurred them to action—yet they didn’t respond, and instinctively Leon took a step back, gun still raised and unwilling to take the chance that this wasn’t another new horror he hadn’t come across yet.

The end of the hallway sunk into blackness, like a curtain had been drawn over the light filtering in, leaving a void of _nothing_ where Leon could once see the dead licker and destruction against the wall. Except, the light was still there, but now a giant wall of mass filled the space of the corridor as it rounded the corner, turning to face him. 

“What the—” Leon hadn’t realized that he’d spoken out loud, not entirely sure what to think as he faced down the man at the opposite end of the hall. But—something was off about him, and it wasn’t just his size, looking to be standing close to ten feet tall as he occupied almost the entire hallway, effectively blocking the path on the other side. “Do you need help?” It was the only thing that really made sense in that moment, that perhaps this man was injured or hurt, preventing him from speaking, but Leon had met a lot of people in his day and he didn’t remember meeting any that nearly brushed the top of a ceiling with their heads.

The eyes finally gave it away: the blank, emotionless stare that appeared _too focused_ to be someone who was injured, much less even human. Two milky white, cataract eyes were staring straight at him, and a chill of something indiscernible raced up Leon’s spine as he made eye-contact. A ghostly acknowledgment passed between them as if the figure on the other end had been waiting for him. 

That was when Leon realized he was in very big trouble.

There was a sudden burst of motion and a feeling of dread cascaded down Leon’s body as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice cold water over his head. The hulking figure at the end of the hall began moving towards him with long, purposeful strides, it’s size belying the speed capable behind every step. The posture and gait screamed _threat._

“Stop—Identify yourself!” Leon knew it was useless to try and keep up the facade of professionalism as far as this night was concerned, but this man looked too alert and self-aware to take that chance. The last thing he needed was to shoot a survivor; someone that needed help. The decision gap was narrowing quickly, this man, whoever he was, gaining on him with swinging, closed fists that Leon couldn’t help but notice were alarmingly big. The intimidating, bowed forward motion told him all that he needed to know in the scant few seconds it took for it to half the distance between them: this thing was going to attack him.

Leon fired, his gun popping loud against the thundering footsteps as they pounded closer, the bullets slapping against the barrel-like chest that he could now see was clothed in what looked like a leather trench coat. He didn’t really have the luxury of spending a lot of time wondering where this man-creature had gotten a leather coat and, of all absurd things, a trilby hat that would fit him. He’d only just noticed that the only part of the skin that was visible to him—the face—was about as pale and white as the light spilling in from the windows, and that confirmed that whatever this thing was, it wasn’t human. At least not anymore.

The dull _thunk thunk thunk_ of bullets sounded hollow to Leon’s trained ears, like he was shooting water-logged sandbags rather than vulnerable flesh. His efforts did nothing to slow the abominable man down, and at about the same moment he realized he should probably stop wasting bullets Leon decided to ditch the hallway he was in and run.

An audible _swoop_ of air passed over his head as Leon had the good sense to duck, just as he turned on his heels and kicked off the ground. The motion of the assailant behind him had so much force and weight behind it that it was actually audible, the whistle of a closed fist passing through the air where his face had been milliseconds before. He didn’t have time to calculate the extensive— _impressive_ —reach of his attacker as his boot slipped in a bloody puddle of water. 

Spinning around, Leon grunted as his left shoulder hit the wall, his body slamming against the hard drywall surface as pain splintered up through his collarbone and sternum from his own momentum. Mercifully he managed to stay on his feet, his weapon instinctively swinging upwards in the general vicinity he calculated the fist to have come from. A quick pulse of surprise jolted through every muscle as he realized exactly how far up he had to look towards the ceiling just to see the thing’s face.

The hulking figure was now terrifyingly close and most definitely within arm’s reach, left shoulder bowed forward in the trailing end of the swing that had just missed Leon’s skull. He only had the briefest of seconds to shoot a glance upwards at its face, bathed in the shadow from the brim of its comically absurd hat. What definitely _wasn’t_ funny was the grim, set line of its mouth, almost frowning down at him as it straightened once more to its full height before lunging again.

Something was wrong with it’s skin. It was worn and wrinkled, like dehydrated meat that had been sitting out in the sun too long.

It was frightening then how easy it was for Leon to just _react,_ the pistol exploding in his hand as he squeezed the trigger. Panic and desperation were making him sloppy, the bullet going astray and knocking the hat off the man-creature’s head, exposing the smooth, hairless skull. The thing was like a ghost. A very large, very solid ghost that could take several rounds to the chest without skipping a beat.

It paused, flinching back a step as if it hadn’t quite expected Leon to fire at its hat (despite the fact that he hadn’t exactly been aiming for it) and it was the only opening he had to run.

So Leon ran, throwing caution to the wind as he burst through the door that led back into the soaked remnants of the women’s locker room. To his dismay he heard the heavy steps commence behind him again, loud and rattling in his ears as he splashed back out into the west wing’s stairwell. He needed to put distance between him and whatever this thing was, to cut off it’s pursuit so that he could regroup and somehow manage to lose it.

The hallway outside the locker room was clear, the bullet-riddled remains of another officer propped against an emergency shutter at the top of the stairwell that would lead Leon down. The blood pounding in his ears meant that the sound of a door opening behind him was relegated to background noise, his only focus being to get down the stairwell. Nearly dropping his flashlight on the way down, he managed to right the beam into the direction of his path to make sure he didn’t run headfirst into something he couldn’t see. Visibility was shit in this part of the station, the interior hallways lacking the ambient light from the outside and the additional hazard of no electricity. 

Leon could hear it behind him, each thunderous step rattling like someone was shaking loose coins in pace with each footfall. Mercifully, the thing didn’t appear interested in running after him—christ if that thing could run he’d never have been able to get away from it, considering how fast it managed to walk.

Despite how far Leon managed to stay ahead of it, it never seemed to be far enough behind him to disappear. He’d at least gotten out of the thing’s line of sight, so he used that to his advantage, cutting through the west office on the first floor. The cheerful party decorations hanging limply from the ceiling taunted him, reminding him of what could have been; they had been meant for his first day, a welcoming party thrown by people who were now dead, or—

Throwing himself out the front door into the cavernous main lobby, Leon ran head-first into the wanting, outstretched arms of Lieutenant Marvin Branagh.

“Fucking hell—” Leon sputtered out-loud, colliding against what had once been the man who was supposed to become his superior officer. The foul stench of rot assaulted his senses making his eyes water, a hot wave of fetid breath blowing against the side of his face as he bounced wetly off the shambling corpse. A deep wail of hunger bubbled out from a collapsing throat, just as Leon managed to use his forward momentum to shove the undead body away from him, stumbling forward and out of its reach. Spinning around and lifting his gun to see the back of the lieutenant’s body, it was standing dumbly facing the door Leon had just come through, trying to make sense of where its dinner had gone.

He’d gotten careless, so focused on running from that fresh hell in a black leather trench coat that he’d nearly become the meal of his lieutenant’s undead corpse. The undead were a lot stronger than they looked, somehow not held back by physical limitations with only single-minded hunger driving them. The desperation was apparent as it tried to grip his uniform with bloodied hands, no longer concerned with the wound on its abdomen. Leon had known it was bad when he’d first met Marvin, who despite his handicap had still endeavored to help him find a way out. The crookedly idling body that had once belonged to him confirmed what Leon had already expected: whatever was going on was contagious. It had to have been, considering the sheer volume of bite wounds and evidence of oral evisceration on most of the undead he’d put down. Marvin hadn’t explicitly said it, but Leon had known he was bitten the moment he saw him. 

Now Leon was going to have to put him out of his misery just like the rest of them, because here in Raccoon City death was only the beginning. It was the last mercy he could offer the man, who in hindsight Leon now knew was already aware of his oncoming demise. That was why Marvin had been so insistent that Leon save himself, pulling his weapon on him and ordering him to leave him where he sat bleeding. 

“I’m sorry Lieutenant,” Leon muttered, and at the sound of his voice the undead corpse spun around with surprising speed. It raised an arm, head tilted loosely as its mouth opened and closed with a rasping growl that was thick with fluid. _The decay happens fast…_ Leon though absently, stilling his breath as he aimed for the forehead before squeezing the trigger.

The gun exploded in his hand, the _crack_ of gunfire filling the silent, empty chamber and rattling the walls. Marvin’s head snapped backwards as a spray of crimson followed the path of the bullet through the exit wound, body crumpling backwards and hitting the ground with a moist crunch of snapping bones and sagging flesh. Leon finally exhaled, realizing a second too late that he’d probably just announced his location—

—and spun around only to be immediately greeted by a solid wall of black as he nearly smashed straight into a leather trench coat. Before Leon had time to react a massive hand shot forward, grasping the entirety of his face like a basketball. He had no idea how the hell the thing had gotten behind him, but there wasn’t any time to dwell on that as he felt himself lifted into the air by the encapsulating grip. The countering force of gravity forced his entire weight to hang painfully from his neck once he left the ground. The pressure of the squeeze was suffocating, that alone being enough to make Leon kick his legs in an attempt to free himself, but he hit nothing but solid muscle that didn’t budge. The pressure against his head intensified, and with numb horror it quickly became apparent that he was about to die by having his skull crushed with the ease of squishing a grape.

What was probably more terrifying was the silence, the only noise Leon could hear being his own muffled grunts of panic against the leather gloved palm that was slowly constricting around him. The thing made no noise, almost as if it was enjoying watching him struggle to get a handle on the combat knife at his hip—a panic-induced effort to release the hold on him before he was brained within the creature’s fist.

Leon managed to get his hand around his knife and he yanked it off of his belt, swinging it around and aiming for the massive wrist he had been clinging too in a vain attempt to release the pressure. The blade plunged silently through solid muscle and bone, and immediately he was blinded as light flooded his vision and he was falling; the creature let go, dropping Leon like a sack onto the floor. He just barely managed to stay upright as his boots hit the ground flat, swaying as his head swam with the sudden onslaught of oxygen as he gasped in air.

Once his vision swam into focus Leon saw the creature take an uncertain step back, it’s arm hovering in the air with his knife imbedded solidly within its meaty wrist. It regarded the wound with an almost passive calm, silent and observing until its other hand shot upward, gripping the knife by the handle and yanking it out in a single motion without even a flinch. Leon watched as the offending weapon clatter to the ground covered in blood, completely dumbfounded.

Going around it didn’t seem like an option, so Leon’s only real strategies were to run back the way he’d come or go _through_ it. His bullets had been useless, his knife equally so, though it had been enough of a surprise to get the thing to let go of him. The only thing stronger he had was the—

—The Lightning Hawk. 

Leon unholstered the magnum just as the creature squared its body towards him, regaining its briefly impacted focus as it stared him down. He’d already checked to make sure the gun was loaded when he’d grabbed it, so all he had to do was aim at the dull, murky white head glimmering in the massive hall’s ambient light. The thing actually _flexed_ at him, shoulders jerking as its balled fists swung through the space above its wide abdomen, and as it took a step forward Leon finally fired.

The kickback of the magnum was significant, the resulting impact rewarding as the bullet found its mark. The creature took a giant step back as it was thrown off-balance, its head snapping backwards from the concussive force of the MAG round. Despite the clean shot, Leon was dismayed to witness it right itself, recovering quickly as it straightened to square its body towards him once more. The bullet wound wasn’t even bleeding, just a darkened hole in its head that may as well have been a scratch for how much the creature seemed to be concerned by it.

So Leon fired again, taking a step back with each explosive burst of gunpowder in a vain attempt to put some distance between them. If this thing was going to keep coming for him—and possibly even Claire—he needed to take him down. The last thing he needed was a constant pursuer bearing down on him when he was already a hair trigger away from the breaking point. Each shot smacked dully against the creature’s head, peppering its crackled white skin with each lumbering step it took towards him, somehow moving against the kinetic force of each MAG round Leon pumped into it. 

It wasn’t until Leon’s hip hit the railing at the entrance of the west office when the thing finally sunk heavily to its knees. Instead of falling completely it knelt, solid and still as it braced itself against the floor. Only when Leon ran out of bullets did he stop firing, the _click click click_ of the empty chamber barely registering under the wild roar of blood in his ears as he fought to comprehend what his eyes were telling him. That _thing_ had taken seven .50 AE MAG rounds to the _head_ and was still… alive; Leon didn’t really know what _alive_ meant anymore.

It was probably the only real shot he had at a head start. Turning, Leon vaulted over the railing and landed on the floor of the west office below, taking off at a blind run into the darkened hallways beyond. He hoped to God that wherever Claire was, he would be able to get to her first, before this unstoppable Mr. X in a trench coat returned to the hunt.


End file.
